


No XYZ For Rare Birds

by Titmoff



Category: City Hunter (TV)
Genre: F/M, Nicky Larson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22831591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titmoff/pseuds/Titmoff
Summary: That mission seemed straight forward enough. Yet, Nicky, the City Hunter sweeper, could not expect it would wake an ornithology passion within him. His detective sense did not fail him: that beautiful bird needed his help. He gladly obliged.I'm trying to post my chapters as they come this time. So if, by any chance, you like it, follow: you'll be notified with every new chapter. And the mature/explicit stuff will eventually happen. But I'm a buildup girl.
Relationships: Nicky Larson / Original Female Character, Ryo Saeba / Original Female Character





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before anything else, I wanna discuss the names I'll be using: yes, the original version is called City Hunter and the main protagonists are Ryô and Kaori, but I grew up knowing them as Nicky and Laura. As far as I am concerned, since I'll be writing in English, I find these names really appropriate and they help me staying in the mental space I need to be to respect the characters. So here is the story of Nicky Larson and Laura Marconi (and her brother Tony)... and Esmeralda. Obviously. Duh.
> 
> Also, about the era my story's taking place in. The TV show was contemporary, more or less, so we're talking 80s, 90s at the most. That's gonna be hard for me. I mean, they barely had cellphones! I can't cope. I need her to handle computers, Tony Stark style, talk to someone at the other end of the world real-time, no delay, no microphone, you know. The real comic-book-level technology thing. Thankfully for me, they made a City Hunter movie last year (2019), a sort of reboot, anime of course, I'm not talking about the excuse for a French comedy Lacheau belched. Works well so era code: 20-20.

Nicky, thanks to his associate Tony's good work, got tasked by a beautiful woman (as it is famous he only accepts jobs from women, preferably beautiful) to retrieve one of her subordinates from a mob chief's grasp. She presented herself as a madam, holding a brothel in Kabukicho (Tokyo's red light district) and described an incident during which a client abducted her girl, on the grounds that he fell in love with her. She intended to set her free and asked the detective to find her and help her escape. She never mentioned her name or physical attributes, and Nicky didn't ask, too absorbed in the length of his client's legs to bother. She had the kidnapper's name anyway. The search wouldn't be too hard. The tricky part would be the rescue in itself, but Nicky knew the man, and his muscles, no big guns amongst them, none posing a threat to him at least. However two things in the lady's behaviour unsettled him: she lingered over how disoriented the poor girl would be, how he shouldn't pay too much attention if she started panicking, and, right before exiting the apartment, she casually asked  
"You don't know sign language, do you Mister Larson?"  
to which his guts pushed him to answer negatively.  
Spoiler alert: Nicky Larson knows sign language.

That same night, he approached the mansion from its south-east side, having easily sent off the park gate guards, swiftly climbed the thing and advanced silently through the patch of woods shielding the house from unwanted attention. He remembered the bawd referring to his target as 'the treasure' so he wondered where a mobster would most likely keep a valuable possession of his. In his own room, one would think. He looked up to the first and second floor windows: all seemed dark and asleep. The ground floor felt different though: buzzing with cards games through long hours of patience, heavy laughs, sexist jokes and ammo. Lots of it.  
'I need to find another way in.', he thought to himself before spotting the cellar door. 'That's not the shortest path but certainly the most secure.'  
Here he goes down through spiderwebs and wine racks, rats squealing inside the walls. He reached the central piece of that basement where a floating flight of stairs led up to a hopefully hidden (or at least discreet) passage to the upper floors. But there was something about this place. A square bordered with barred cells. Nothing unusual for an 18th century mansion really. But it felt ominous to him. Or maybe that cliquety sound… He needed to know what it was, so he reached the cellar directly at the foot of the staircase, and there she was. He gasped when his eyes met her face. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen (classic, dumb, I'm sorry, can't find a better phrasing). Not only were her features gracious and soft-looking, but they transpired kindness, femininity and… loneliness. She sat directly on the ground, legs crossed, her back pushing a low wall within her prison. Her long black hair cascading down her shoulders gave her an untamed look, yet there she was, locked in that cold and damp jail. She was weaving her delicate fingers through the chains linking the cuffs she wore at her ankles to a bold iron circle riveted to the opposite wall, producing that monotonous jingling. His heart sunk when he noticed the bruises she wore on the parts of her skin left bare by the cheap white dress she was wearing. He'd seen worse, but he couldn't bear the thought of anyone hurting such a gentle looking creature. Then his heart went from sunk to elated: he'll get her out of here. In a split second, his mission completely forgotten, his goal appeared clear to him. He expertly analyzed the latch. The noise stopped. He looked up. She was staring right at him, her eyes dull and nonchalant. He brought a finger to his lips, gesturing her to stay quiet. She responded with a snort, like a scoff, with no humour, a raised eyebrow as punctuation. He didn't get the joke.

Just then, the door from upstairs flew open. He hadn't paid attention but he could discern the men's voices from here. He deftly slid under the stairs, hiding from the incomer laughing in response to his peers' banter.  
"Yeah go check the treasure, dickface!"  
"Send her our love!"  
"And don't take too long, we're still three who haven't got down there."  
"It's not my fault I drew two aces!", the man defended before shutting the door and walking down.  
He was big. Like fat, but imposing. And tall. Nothing to scare Nicky but a worthy opponent nonetheless. And the fact his colleagues were so close made the situation way more dangerous. He couldn't possibly use his Magnum here, the shot would expose him. He would have to use arms' strength. In the midst of his scheming, Nicky heard a word ring in his ear: 'the treasure'. They just very obviously referred to her as the treasure. She was his objective. Or how to kill two birds with one stone. Well, for now, there was one bird to take down. And it was one hell of a bird.  
Its shadow seemed to cast over him forever so he waited for the crook to reach the gate and step way inside the cell before daring moving from his spot.  
"Hi there, Beautiful."  
No response. Now, how could anyone not be disgusted by so much inappropriate hunger. Before he could leave the security of his hideout, there was a violent rustle, the shackles dragged across the floor. He pulled his head out the corner of the stairs and witnessed the girl crash onto the metallic bed, opposite her wall. She fell, head to the mattress, and gripped the sheets. There was the sound of a zip, and without further due, a giant hand trapped her ankle, pulled her to a kneeling position over the bed, and the man thrusted into her.

Nicky was stunned. How did the situation escalate so dramatically quickly? The guards' words echoed again and he realized this was a fucking gang rape: there were playing cards up there, only to decide whose turn it was to enjoy her favours. Her favours… She was fixing him. She had turned her face towards the exit, the man's palm pushing her head into the mattress, his relentless impeti convulsing her body, and her gaze was locked on him. He did not read sadness in it, nor even pain, nor disgust, but rage yes, a distant, quiet but burning rage. She was not calling for help. Actually, she was not making a sound. But he heard her cry inside his heart (cheeeeezy) and there was no coming back from that.  
He advanced, his brain barely registering the sequence of his decisions, positioned himself behind the albatros, grabbed the chain at his feet, passed it over the bird's skull, and pulled. The dying man produced some weird bubbling grunts as he was trying to make sense of what was happening, then briefly tried to fight, bringing his fingers to his neck, hoping to pluck that choking away. But Nicky's wrath was unstoppable, and with a surprisingly silent thump, his foe's body fell to the ground. The chain followed, escaping Nicky's grip. The woman let herself slide down as well.  
She was panting, still squeezing the fabric, not daring to turn. But they didn't have much time and he knew it. He rushed to her, knelt down, drew his Colt out and shot at the links closest to her feet. Bam. Bam. Precise as ever, they were now seconds away from being discovered. He caught her hand, and started running, feeling her follow. By the time they climbed out the way he came in, he had calculated they still could reach the fence before their pursuers, having the element of surprise on their side. He didn't take the chance to check on her, he'll have plenty of opportunities later for that, once she'll be out of danger, and the house was awakening, lights being turned on in the upper floors. They ran without a sound through the undergrowth. He knew she was barefoot and the pin needles stabbing her skin must have been painful, yet she never complained. He pushed her up above the railings and hauled himself right after she had touched the ground. She seemed to take a second to comprehend she was now free, but he clasped her wrist again and dragged her towards his car, parked 500 meters down the road. He could hear the barks and shouts behind them but they were far enough that once the doors of the Mini slammed, all fell silent. He turned on the engine of his red companion and off they went.

She was sound asleep when they reached the parking lot of his apartment building. They didn't exchange a word during the ride. The vibe she was giving him was not one of a freed hooker. More of a weary and lost animal, accepting its fate despite the immense fury building up within. He could not quite pinpoint what felt wrong but his detective sense was unequivocal. He cautiously scooped her out of the vehicle and handled her with care, not like a fragile thing he could break, but more like a rare bird he would scare off, until she was resting peacefully in his bed. He tucked her in and shut the door.

It took his partner two hours to reach out. First a phone call, left unanswered (Nicky was catching some z's on the couch then), and in the early morning, a knock on the door. Tony had the key, obviously, but he was never the one to abuse it. Unfortunately the client was being somehow pushy and now that he had spotted the Mini in her usual place, he needed to know how it went. One last knock and he unlocked his way in. Nicky was just emerging, sluggishly making his way to the kitchen for a well-earned cup of coffee. Tony tossed the newspaper on the diner table in the middle of the room and, with three steps, passed his friend and reached the coffee machine first. Nicky, understanding he wouldn't have to do it himself, spinned right back and went and sat at the table, losing himself in the front page articles. Tony only gave him the time the coffee took to brew before placing a smoking mug under his nose, holding one for himself, and starting questioning.  
"So?" Nicky lazily looked up. "Aren't you gonna tell me what happened? Did you find the girl? Where is she?"  
"In my bed.", Nicky replied without a second thought.  
"Nicky…", the tone was nothing but admonishing.  
The time it took to hit, "Who do you think I am Tony?"  
"She must be very pretty…"  
"She sure is."  
"...and you're not exactly famous for your manners around those."  
"I'm a professional!"  
"Didn't mean to offend."  
"She fell out of exhaustion and it felt she really needed a rest. I didn't touch her.", and after a somber silence, "She got enough of that."  
Tony's brows furrowed. "Keep going."  
Nicky clicked his tongue in response, but he knew he had to account for yesterday's events, and probably why he would have to fail his mission this time.  
"Didn't she feel odd to you, that woman?", he asked.  
"The client? You didn't seem too concerned when ogling her thighs yesterday morning."  
"I mean, her story made sense. But did you notice how it felt like she was throwing me off scent when she mentioned how confused the girl would be?"  
"Where you getting at?"  
"She didn't want me to look deeper into it. She's got something to hide. That girl, I don't believe for one second she's a prostitute."  
Tony scanned the sweeper's face: he was dead serious, which implied a lot. "How will we proceed?"  
The blind trust the question entailed was nothing new between the two men and Nicky had always intended on respecting that.  
"As far as Madam Arthur is concerned, I never found the girl."  
"That won't work. Words travel fast within the mob. Snitchers already let the town know the treasure got looted."  
"Trust me, I was not the one who looted her."  
"I know. But you have to say you found her and escaped."  
"OK, then, she fled."  
"Yes, because she got scared she would go back. This way, we'll make the manageress unveil her motives, if there's any. If not, you can always promise you'll find her again and complete the mission."  
"Seems about right."  
"Now are we sure your protégée will like that plan?"  
"Hopefully, it can wait for her to wake up…"

Like a life's knock, there were three loud bangs on the front door.  
"Don't think it can.", commented Tony.  
"We'll have to improvise."


	2. A Will To Live

The meeting was no picnic. The madam, accompanied by two massive bodyguards, bought the escape within the escape story but she was not happy with the City Hunter services.  
"I came to you after being told you were the best at your job. Yet you let a frail harlot overpower you?"  
"She got me by surprise, Mrs Arthur. I didn’t think she would want to flee."  
"It’s miss Arthur, if you please. And I warned you she would be unstable."  
"You did. I just didn’t expect she would take so much risk not to be brought back to…"  
"To?"  
"Well, to you, miss."  
The look she answered with was so hateful, it turned her ugly. She crossed her arms and clawed her sleeves out of frustration.  
"I’m certainly not paying for your waste of time."  
Tony intervened in his capacity of bookkeeper. "Goes without saying, miss." And client relationship manager. "We’re terribly sorry about that incident. Nicky will do everything in his power to find your treasure and bring her back to you."  
"You have no idea how much money I’m sitting on right now, having the girl free as a bird like this."  
Unnoticeable to unaccustomed eyes, Nicky twitched at the remark. Tony took it as a cue to dig here.  
"Was she your most profitable asset?"  
She grunted, "She would be, if you had done your job."  
These conjugation games were enough for Nicky, he got what he wanted. He threw his hands behind his head and laid back in his chair, visibly disinterested in how the conversation would end. The woman, who could possibly not be more vexed, got to her feet and strode to the door, making her heels clack purposely loud. But she suddenly froze in her tracks. She seemed to take a minute to think.  
"You two.", she pointed at her gorillas, "Search the flat."  
"By what right?", revolted Tony.  
Nicky kept his position, but his eyes followed their every move, ready to interfere. The place is minimalist, it didn’t take long to go around. All that was left was the master bedroom, behind Nicky. He was breathing slow, concentrating on the movements inside the room. Tony wondered how he could pull such a relaxed demeanour but worked hard at keeping a straight face too. The smaller of the two gunmen pushed the door open and stood in its frame, scanning the dim scenery. From where he sat, Tony spotted the bed: it was empty, the sheets negligently thrown over. After a moment of acclimatation to the darkness, they both stepped inside and rummaged through the closet, the bed and the curtains, only to come out empty handed. The madam growled and headed out before her flock,  
"We’ll meet again, Mr Larson!", she threatened.

Tony waited for their commotion to recede down the stairwell and rushed to the room.  
"Where the hell is she?", he questioned, turning his head every which way.  
Nicky chuckled, "Behind the door."  
Just then, the thing pivoted on its hinges, revealing a narrow space where the hidden beauty had found cover. Tony stayed dumbfounded for too long because the girl rolled her eyes (a first from many to come) before stirring out of her shelter. She skirted him and walked in the living space. Nicky turned to face her, displaying a genuine smile.  
"So, you heard it all?", he asked her.  
She nodded once.  
"That’s a relief.", commented Tony, joining them. "Good thinking hiding back there."  
She was checking her surroundings very meticulously, a plain prudence on her face.  
"Can you tell us then?" She directed her glare back at the sweeper. "Would you like to go back to Ms. Arthur?"  
She shook her head, slowly.  
"You don't work for her, do you?", pointed Tony. She shook her head again. "That sick bitch!", he erupted. "She must have seen her with the mobster and thought she’d make a great addition to her coven."  
"To be fair", started Nicky. Both the girl and the bookkeeper pierced him with a dirty look. "What? She’s absolutely gorgeous, you can’t deny!" He turned to his friend for support. "How many men would pay for…" He brought himself back to that cell, and gulped, sickened by his own inadequacy.  
She frowned. She seemed troubled that he would show empathy towards her at all, despite his last comment. But she straightened, crossed her arms, and adopted a wary posture. It looked like she was waiting for her fate to be disclosed to her. Tony watched his partner out of the corner of his eyes, not sure what to do or say.  
"Let’s start with basics: what’s your name?", he blurted. She snorted, like that time in the jail, without humour. "Oh sorry, you’re right. I’m Nicky. Nicky Larson." He got to his feet and stretched out his hand. "I’m known as the City Hunter."  
She looked down at his hand with disbelief, then back up at his face. She tilted hers for a second before gently ensnaring his palm within her lean fingers. He gave her a bright smile, it made her frown more.  
"And I’m Tony." He jumped shoulder to shoulder with his friend, and exchanged Nicky’s hand with his own. Nicky could do nothing but make a mental note of his buddy’s unusual enthusiasm. She let their hands separate and stood there. There was a loooong silence. Before she exhaled and started gesturing.  
"Of course.", mumbled Nicky.  
"Of course what?"  
"She’s mute."  
Tony pulled that sort of face you do when everything suddenly makes sense. Nicky started signing back.  
"You said you didn’t!", almost complained Tony.  
"I told you I found it fishy she even asked."  
He gawked at the silent conversation: she replied to his signs, he signed back and she answered.  
“You'll be happy to hear she's not deaf.”, he translated.  
“Happy to hear. Good one.”  
“Unintended.”  
She started signing again, her shoulders raised, giving her an interrogative attitude. Nicky furrowed his brows.  
“We don't want anything from you.”  
She signed.  
“Well…”  
His expression was incredulous.  
“What? What did she ask?”, and before he could get his answer, “You'll need to exchange a lot more info here, pal. There'll be shortcomings otherwise.”  
“She wants to know… why I took her out.”  
The two frowning men goggled at her and Tony stuttered, “To set you free?”, an unsure end to his phrase.  
Her eyes were ping ponging from one face to the other. She closed her eyes and shook her head again, in visible denial.  
“But that's true”, assured Nicky, “I was tasked with getting you out of your kidnapper's grasp and hand you back to that evil woman. But since you've got nothing to do with her…”  
The rim of her eyes was getting moist and her lower lip slightly trembled. She signed.  
“No. We're no one's owner.”  
One more gestured question.  
“Yes. You are free. Free to do whatever you want.”  
He pronounced that last sentence word by word, like it was difficult to state the obvious. She turned her head towards the picture window facing the front door, physically fighting the tears. She looked nothing but disoriented. One should think freedom only brings elation. But it was far from clear now. She moved to the glass door, opened it and stepped onto the balcony. They tracked her every intention. Nicky gradually got closer. Her motions were poised, almost lethargic, which brought more concern to him than curiosity. By the time she was gripping the rail, he had a foot on the outside too. So that he was able to immediately catch her waist when she gave the impulsion to climb above the parapet.

The flat is the highest of the building. We’re talking about a four stories fall here. Nothing to look forward to. Yet she was fighting like a devil to break away from Nicky’s strong hold. Physically, there was no match of course. He picked her up disconcertingly easily and, in a single swipe of his arm, pinned her against the brick wall on their left. It kicked the wind out of her, which gave him the opportunity to push her shoulders with both hands to keep her in place.  
“Are you crazy?”, he screamed.  
She lifted an enraged scowl and brushed him off. Tony caught up as they were panting it off, glowering at each other.  
“Did she just try to…?”  
She started signing like a fury. If there was an equivalent of shouting for sign language, that would be it.  
“Calm down!”, interjected Nicky.  
“What does she say?”  
“She says, since she’s finally free, she’s free to end her misery.”, he translated, with the tone.  
She still couldn’t catch her breath and tears were now welling from her eyes. Nicky noticed how green and bright they reflected the sunset. That helped him compose himself and he brought a hand to her jaw. The contact nearly made her jump: she had never been touched this way, with kindness, and respect. He understood then.  
“You’ve been put through so much. Too much.” A tear escaped and came crashing against his thumb. “I get it.” She raised her eyes to observe his lips moving, a frown still holding most of her despair in. “But life is worth living, you have to believe me.”  
That was too much for her. She slid to the ground, hunching her back, and shuddered under her sobs. She was swaying her head, trying to shake off the hope he was instilling in her. He knelt in front of her, placing a hand on her collarbone.  
“Nicky, can’t we help?” Tony’s concern made him smirk.  
“Here is the deal.” She raised her head in such an exhausted manner, like a tortured soul going in for one more round, but he held his ground. “You give us one week. One. If in seven days exactly you still want to die, I will kill you myself.”  
“What are you saying, Nicky?”, protested his associate.  
“It’s my job anyway. I’m the best marksman around here. I won’t miss you.” She sniffed, now interested. “But you give us seven days. And the benefit of the doubt. You play along.” She questioned him with a raised brow. “We’ll show you. We’ll prove you it’s worth it. Life is wonderful, just let us show you.”  
She looked down, contemplative, thinking. There was a raging conflict going on behind her glazed eyes. She sighed. She wanted it to stop. But Nicky knew she had no idea of the true nature of ‘it’, and he intended for her to see its brightest colours. She looked up once more, sniffed, and nodded timidly. Both men reacted with the warmest smiles.  
“Good.”, commented Nicky. “So, what’s your name?”


	3. L for Learner

The first gear, then the second gear. So far so good.  
“Watch your RPM gauge. You shouldn't shift gear before it's above 2, close to 2.5."  
OK back to first, brake, indicator to the right, check the road, all clear, throttle, clutch, second gear, throttle. She knew the mechanics. She could name every piece of Nicky’s Mini Cooper, probably date them and name their inventor too. The Highway Code had no secret for her either. It became obvious as soon as they boarded the car together, her in the driving seat, on the right, him spilling instructions and advice. But he never asked why or how. She appreciated that. Nothing but a quick comment when Tony came to find them the first evening:  
“She had a head start. Tomorrow, she’ll burn rubber around town!”  
The joke was sweet. Their discretion about her past life even more. She didn’t feel comfortable discussing it anyway. She didn’t really care that this tact of theirs was part of a larger scheme to make her focus on life’s positive side. She had absolutely nothing to lose so she might as well trust them blindly. Worst case, it would be over in a few days.  
She had been tricked so many times before. Men and their promises. Her, gullible, naive. It had hurt each and every time. She swore to herself she wouldn’t fall for it again and yet, here she was: placing her fate in the hands of a stranger. What was it about him?  
“Make it left at the next crossroads.”  
Mirrors, indicator, clutch, throttle. The confidence? All the men she served were leaders. Whether a small gang or a whole cartel. It might have been an illusion, even to them, but power turns men confident.  
“There, take the second lane, and then you can merge.”  
Mirrors, indicators, throttle. The expertise? She had discussed with other girls: some of her masters were deemed competent in the art of pleasing a woman. Yet she never received anything but coarseness and ruthlessness. Many times had she wondered if the problem came from her. But if it were, then how was this man so gentle to her?  
“Congratulations! You’re driving on the motorway!”  
Throttle, throttle. Maybe that was it, the gentleness? His smile was radiant. She recognized pride in it. Nobody had ever shown pride for her. She blushed and felt the rush of the freeway, all these cars speeding around her. She stepped on it and overtook a van. The feelings of dominance and freedom were intoxicating. Without realizing it, she stretched the corners of her mouth and wore the brightest of smiles. Soon, she felt him staring and embarrassment flushed her. She called back her dimples and anxiously glanced his way, staying aware of the traffic around. He understood he unsettled her and focused back on the road, but not before shrugging it off with a:  
“It’s just that it suits you.”  
He kept a grin on his face. Or maybe that was what made her trust him, his smile? He sure was a handsome man. And muscled with that. The kind of physique who would intimidate any person at fault but filled her with reassurance and courage. But she had been abused by men bigger than him who didn’t grant her any kind of protection whatsoever.  
She concluded it was the combination of it all. And just then, it appeared to her that this trust was mutual: letting a suicidal learner driver transport you at full speed over the highway took some balls. For the first time ever, she was responsible for someone else’s life. That felt good. It took him less than two days to make her feel so whole. She shook her head vigorously: careful sister, he might just be keeping his cards close to his brawny chest. She smirked stupidly, this morning’s shirtless vision fresh in her mind. She just really wanted to trust him, that’s all. And if he lied, like all the others, there were so many ways to end it. For now, she accepted to follow him wherever. She, for one, was the kind to respect her own decision.

“Oh there! There’s a spot.”  
Yeah, it was a parallel parking. Not the funniest part of driving.  
"Just like we practiced at home.", he encouraged her.  
Home. What a weird choice of word.  
"You could go back a bit more. Yes, just like that. Now spin the wheel. Yup, you've got it. First try!"  
The Mini is not called a Mini for nothing. She fits everywhere. That was not a hard exercise. Yet he seemed so happy, it sipped through her. She beamed again, switching the engine off. He knew better than making another comment about it but he couldn't help devouring her with his eyes. She felt her cheeks warm up. Any other man, any other place, she would have felt that all too familiar ache in her stomach, that clenching apprehension and tension of her body, getting ready for the tortures to come. But not this time. She felt playful. She flung the keys at him and exited the car. He mirrored. She was looking all around her, discovering a world without chains and bars. Well… there were plenty of bars here actually. What was that place he brought her to?  
“Have you ever had takoyaki?” She shook her head as he caught up with her. “How can you say no to a life that has takoyaki?”  
He captured her hand in his own and tugged on her arm, compelling her to follow his steps. She let all of her cells tag along. The way he was guiding her had nothing coercive. Somehow she knew she could get loose of him anytime. And that only made her wish he would never let go. Was that a trick? Was he just more clever, manipulative than the others?  
A flashy red light broke her questioning: they were now strolling down a narrow paved street lined with food stands. Vapours, smells and shapes like she had never seen before. She pulled herself to his level and mechanically ensnared his bicep with both arms, clinging onto him. Her changing range of emotions tired her, quite frankly. And there were the wonderment and the learning to deal with too: she twisted her head left and right, curious of everything, using all her senses to imprint these discoveries in her memory, unaware he was focusing on her, taking in her reactions. He led the way to a small stall covered with a candy red tarp. She froze in front of one of those miniature wooden boat covered with ice and seafood, like she was now challenging the whole fabric of her reality. She was frowning, tilting her head and visibly struggling to understand the point of it. He burst into laughter, startling her.  
“Oh sorry”, he articulated through his muffled giggling, “You’re right, it’s very stupid, I don’t know why they do that.”  
Her mouth stretched and she would have laughed if she had a voice. He dragged her back on track and lifted his targeted stand’s noren to slide under. It felt cosy. The old man behind the counter welcomed them, his eyes worn out by the steam no doubt constantly filling up the tiny kitchen space he spent his days in, escaping over to the patrons’ side to create a warm snug atmosphere.  
“Nicky! Long time no see!”  
The man’s wrinkles drew into amusement and genuine delight at the sight of his friend.  
“Oh Asao, it’s only been two weeks you know.”  
“At my age, two weeks’re like an eternity.”  
“Sorry old friend, I had to give a hand to this lovely lady.”, he gently nudged her elbow as she was taking place on the high stool. She looked up, content with the casual tone of the conversation.  
“Ooooh a lovely friend indeed.”, the cook commented, “Well, my dear, my friends’ friends are my friends too. So please consider me such.”  
Esmeralda perceived no perversion whatsoever from the man, which surprised and pleased her. She nodded, grinning widely, and made a mental note that, if anything were to happen to her protector, she might be able to come here for help. And she felt Nicky’s pride again.  
“Can you make it two house specials for us, Asao?”  
“Coming right up!”, the man cackled before turning his back to them to concentrate on his pans.  
Nicky let some minutes pass by, giving her the occasion to get accustomed to their surroundings, settling in, feeling comfortable.  
“Why driving?”, he simply asked when he assumed her available.  
She was in such a good mood, which was not a familiar experience, that she would not lose her smile. He watched her graceful fingers answer him:  
‘They never let me. It was a means of escape.’  
“There are so many things to discover and learn in this world, yet it was your very first -and only- request when we asked you what you wanted to do this week.”  
She widened her smile as an answer. She was not very… talkative. Obviously. But knowing he could understand her, she still kept her words to herself. She seemed to consider they were clever enough to fill the blanks. Nicky also recognized restraint in everything she gave them: there was distrust in her demeanour; she was expecting them to turn against her at any moment. This saddened him more than he could say.  
“You know, it takes a normal human being several months to learn driving.”  
He tried playing her game, leaving the many implications of that statement hanging in the air. But he knew his limitations. That woman was way more intelligent than him. Her smirk turned enigmatic, almost bitter. He would not be able to get to her standards so he might as well put his feet in it.  
“They never let you hold a wheel but they gave you access to computers?”  
Soon after settling inside after her diving attempt, her eyes had met Tony’s laptop, always lying around in the living room. She had pounced on it, starting fiddling with its keys and buttons. Nicky was a stranger to technology. He had a phone of course, a smartphone even, for business purposes. But Tony was the one he thought fluent with emails and internet. Until he saw her playing with this computer like a pianist would play Liszt’s La Campanella. The first thing she had opened was a black window with green lines superposing themselves and when she had started typing, it was like she was literally conversing with the machine. Soon enough, an all too familiar logo popped up on the screen.  
“Hey! That’s our bank account!”, had complained Tony (again, not Nicky’s area).  
But he had then remained silent as numbers went up. All in all, it appeared obvious she was an informatics genius. His associate tried solving that mystery but she stayed focused, deaf to his questioning, until sleep caught up with her. The next day, Nicky had made sure to keep her in the car, fulfilling the only wish she had taken the time to express. His purpose was only to indulge her and, in the process, he hoped she would open up a little. But he knew that she would need solid proofs of their probity. So there was no inquisition, no reference to anything but the here and now, during the two days-long lesson he had planned for her. Now, he counted on the frequency and intensity of her unassured stares and that life-changing smile of hers to probe her sentiments a little.  
“Did you maybe learn, hum, ‘computering’ before your, hum, past life?”  
She did that snort again, that unamused sound, always punctuated with a raised eyebrow. He was starting to grasp the meaning of it. It was sardonic.  
‘The rich ones try to keep me happy. So they let me play with outdated machines.’  
Yes, he was getting there.  
“Outdated?”  
‘They were afraid I could reach the internet and call for help.’  
“You never managed?”  
‘If you got the hardware, you can do anything.’  
“So you managed.”  
She hesitated. ‘The internet is a somber place. Full of cowards and perverts.’  
“No one ever took you seriously?”, he tried guessing.  
‘I quickly understood I could only depend on myself.’  
That made a lot of sense. A sex slave’s SOS could easily be mistaken for attention seeking on the internet. Who would be crazy enough to risk their life for a stranger? For all these geeks knew, she could have been a trap. Well, for these people, that’s what she was. Not for Nicky. And she probably encountered the deviants on there too. He could only imagine how being surrounded by them in real life only made her wish to stay away from more.  
“Not even the Police?”  
‘I hacked their website to force them to look into it.’  
“The NPA?”  
She nodded and kept on signing. ‘By the time they took me seriously, I had been handled to a new owner.’  
“And that repeated itself, didn’t it?” She nodded again, lowering her head, and it only confirmed the extent of hell he imagined she went through. “How many? Owners, I mean.”  
She widened her eyes and puffed out her cheeks in a very self-explanatory expression: too many. “But these hacking skills, surely they could be useful somehow?”  
She turned her head to face him, a sly grin on her mouth.  
‘Whenever I was given the chance, I could hack their account or send emails on their behalf, to compromise their situation, destroy their life. It always ended up with me changing house. Whether stolen or given.’  
“Never freed or let loose.”  
‘Never.’ She tilted her head and gave him a silly face, sticking her tongue out. ‘But I had a little control whose bed I ended up in.’ She lost the attitude. ‘Or cellar.’  
“Who would do that?”, he blew up suddenly, “I really can’t understand these excuses of men.” He took a sip from the pint of beer old man Asao had dropped in front of him a moment ago and realized she was gawking at him when he laid it back. He gave her a quizzical look and she very visibly blushed, bringing a hand to her cheek. He understood his compassion felt weird to her. He frowned and shook his head. “What life put you through… No. What these people put you through, it was not right. You can’t let it define your existence.”  
He looked so serious. If she could have found him more handsome, she would have. Stay on your guard gurl, he’s only saying this to win his stupid bet. A silence settled. At first, it felt sort of awkward. He could sense she was having that cautious reaction again. But she relaxed under the hypnotizing effect of Asao’s cooking. Her smile, that had left her lips for a minute, crept back on. He should try getting back on a lighter subject, maybe.  
“It’s funny how Laura’s clothes fit you so well.”, he pointed out, after another sip of beer.  
‘She’s such a kind girl’, she signed, thoughtful.  
“I wouldn’t know.” She raised her eyebrows, interrogative. “Tony never let me meet her. That’s why he took you to her yesterday night, rather than having her come over.”  
‘Why?’  
Nicky chuckled. “He’s probably afraid she’d fall in love with me.” She full on snorted this time, laughter in her eyes. “What? You think she wouldn’t?” She tried to muffle her soundless giggles but her amusement did nothing but spread to him. “When you do this face, you really look like a Kakapo!”, he retorted.  
She gaped, falsely offended, but seconded her snickering. He finally blurted into laughter, just as Asao set down their plates in front of them, joining in the hilarity. That’s a nickname that’ll stick.


End file.
